ERNEST HEMINGWAY - Premium Edition. Ernest Hemingway

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СКАЧАТЬ and at the far end a dancing-floor.

      “I wish people would come earlier,” Braddocks said. The daughter came up and wanted to know what we would drink. The proprietor got up on a high stool beside the dancing-floor and began to play the accordion. He had a string of bells around one of his ankles and beat time with his foot as he played. Every one danced. It was hot and we came off the floor perspiring.

      “My God,” Georgette said. “What a box to sweat in!”

      “It’s hot.”

      “Hot, my God!”

      “Take off your hat.”

      “That’s a good idea.”

      Some one asked Georgette to dance, and I went over to the bar. It was really very hot and the accordion music was pleasant in the hot night. I drank a beer, standing in the doorway and getting the cool breath of wind from the street. Two taxis were coming down the steep street. They both stopped in front of the Bal. A crowd of young men, some in jerseys and some in their shirt-sleeves, got out. I could see their hands and newly washed, wavy hair in the light from the door. The policeman standing by the door looked at me and smiled. They came in. As they went in, under the light I saw white hands, wavy hair, white faces, grimacing, gesturing, talking. With them was Brett. She looked very lovely and she was very much with them.

      One of them saw Georgette and said: “I do declare. There is an actual harlot. I’m going to dance with her, Lett. You watch me.”

      The tall dark one, called Lett, said: “Don’t you be rash.”

      The wavy blond one answered: “Don’t you worry, dear.” And with them was Brett.

      I was very angry. Somehow they always made me angry. I know they are supposed to be amusing, and you should be tolerant, but I wanted to swing on one, any one, anything to shatter that superior, simpering composure. Instead, I walked down the street and had a beer at the bar at the next Bal. The beer was not good and I had a worse cognac to take the taste out of my mouth. When I came back to the Bal there was a crowd on the floor and Georgette was dancing with the tall blond youth, who danced big-hippily, carrying his head on one side, his eyes lifted as he danced. As soon as the music stopped another one of them asked her to dance. She had been taken up by them. I knew then that they would all dance with her. They are like that.

      I sat down at a table. Cohn was sitting there. Frances was dancing. Mrs. Braddocks brought up somebody and introduced him as Robert Prentiss. He was from New York by way of Chicago, and was a rising new novelist. He had some sort of an English accent. I asked him to have a drink.

      “Thanks so much,” he said, “I’ve just had one.”

      “Have another.”

      “Thanks, I will then.”

      We got the daughter of the house over and each had a fine à l’eau.

      “You’re from Kansas City, they tell me,” he said.

      “Yes.”

      “Do you find Paris amusing?”

      “Yes.”

      “Really?”

      I was a little drunk. Not drunk in any positive sense but just enough to be careless.

      “For God’s sake,” I said, “yes. Don’t you?”

      “Oh, how charmingly you get angry,” he said. “I wish I had that faculty.”

      I got up and walked over toward the dancing-floor. Mrs. Braddocks followed me. “Don’t be cross with Robert,” she said. “He’s still only a child, you know.”

      “I wasn’t cross,” I said. “I just thought perhaps I was going to throw up.”

      “Your fiancée is having a great success,” Mrs. Braddocks looked out on the floor where Georgette was dancing in the arms of the tall, dark one, called Lett.

      “Isn’t she?” I said.

      “Rather,” said Mrs. Braddocks.

      Cohn came up. “Come on, Jake,” he said, “have a drink.” We walked over to the bar. “What’s the matter with you? You seem all worked up over something?”

      “Nothing. This whole show makes me sick is all.”

      Brett came up to the bar.

      “Hello, you chaps.”

      “Hello, Brett,” I said. “Why aren’t you tight?”

      “Never going to get tight any more. I say, give a chap a brandy and soda.”

      She stood holding the glass and I saw Robert Cohn looking at her. He looked a great deal as his compatriot must have looked when he saw the promised land. Cohn, of course, was much younger. But he had that look of eager, deserving expectation.

      Brett was damned good-looking. She wore a slipover jersey sweater and a tweed skirt, and her hair was brushed back like a boy’s. She started all that. She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you missed none of it with that wool jersey.

      “It’s a fine crowd you’re with, Brett,” I said.

      “Aren’t they lovely? And you, my dear. Where did you get it?”

      “At the Napolitain.”

      “And have you had a lovely evening?”

      “Oh, priceless,” I said.

      Brett laughed. “It’s wrong of you, Jake. It’s an insult to all of us. Look at Frances there, and Jo.”

      This for Cohn’s benefit.

      “It’s in restraint of trade,” Brett said. She laughed again.

      “You’re wonderfully sober,” I said.

      “Yes. Aren’t I? And when one’s with the crowd I’m with, one can drink in such safety, too.”

      The music started and Robert Cohn said: “Will you dance this with me, Lady Brett?”

      Brett smiled at him. “I’ve promised to dance this with Jacob,” she laughed. “You’ve a hell of a biblical name, Jake.”

      “How about the next?” asked Cohn.

      “We’re going,” Brett said. “We’ve a date up at Montmartre.” Dancing, I looked over Brett’s shoulder and saw Cohn, standing at the bar, still watching her.

      “You’ve made a new one there,” I said to her.

      “Don’t talk about it. Poor chap. I never knew it till just now.”

      “Oh, well,” I said. “I suppose you like to add them up.”

      “Don’t talk like a fool.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ